Choices, Part 2
by Kittystitch
Summary: Garrison and Chief return to England after salvaging a mission gone bad, but there are still some disturbing questions left unanswered.
1. Chapter 1

**Choices, Part 2**

 _Author's note: This is the second episode in the two-parter titled "Choices". Since I didn't do a "previously on Garrison's Gorillas" segment, you'll need to read Part 1 first._

The sun would have just been brightening the sky as they left Intelligence Headquarters in London, if it hadn't been leaden with storm clouds. But they matched Garrison's mood, heavy and grey. Chief hadn't objected when he said he'd drive, and his scout now slouched in the passenger seat next to him, his eyes closed, his hands seemingly relaxed on his thighs.

After they'd turned over the book containing the encrypted German attack plans, Major Richards had generously offered to postpone the debriefing until the following day, at the mansion. Garrison figured the Major just wanted an excuse to get out of the concrete and crowds of London, but whatever the reason, he'd take it. They hadn't even bothered to change from the damp, dirty clothes they'd been wearing for two days. They'd just climbed into the car and headed for home.

When he pulled into the mansion's courtyard, he had to swerve to keep from running over the parachute silks that were spread out on the cobblestones. Actor and Goniff were wrestling the chute into submission. Casino struggled to untangle the lines, and Sergeant Major Rawlins supervised the procedure from the packing table that had been set up near the steps. Garrison remembered adding parachute packing to their training schedule. A poorly maintained and improperly packed parachute was as dangerous to them as any Kraut patrol. He just wished they'd chosen a different morning to start it.

When he saw Garrison get out of the car, Goniff dropped what he was doing and trotted up to greet them. "Hey, Warden. Chiefy. Have a nice trip to the continent, did ya?"

Casino wasn't far behind, leaving the lines to re-tangle. "Yeah, what was that all about? Couldn't have been much of a mission if just the two of you could handle it, and him still on the disabled list."

Chief climbed from the car and brushed past Casino with a glare, heading silently up the steps.

Casino called after him. "Too hurt to join us on the torture patrol, right? But just fine for traipsin' off to France for a coupla days."

"C'mon, mate, leave off," Goniff admonished. "France ain't exactly a walk in the park."

Ignoring Goniff, Casino turned back to Garrison. "So, did you end the war and save the world?"

"Sorry, we had to leave something for you to do, Casino."

Actor walked up next to him, still holding onto the chute, and watched Chief disappear into the mansion. "Is he alright?"

"Yeah. We're both just tired. What time did you get back yesterday?" The remainder of his team had been on endurance maneuvers, or 'the torture patrol', as Casino had dubbed it, when he and Chief had been sent to Paris.

"Around 6 p.m., I think," Actor said.

They'd had adequate rest. Garrison beckoned his training officer. "Sergeant Major, have them reorganize the small arms arsenal this afternoon and clean some of the older weapons."

"Ah, Warden," Casino whined. "Give us a break. We just spent four days runnin' through mud and sleepin' in the rain."

"It's that or the obstacle course, Casino. Your choice." And he followed Chief up the steps and inside.

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Garrison showered quickly, not long enough for the water to get hot, just to scrub the diesel fumes and brine off of his skin and out of his hair. Then he collapsed onto his bunk in the small bedroom off his office. With the blackout shade pulled, it was almost dark, and the thick stone walls facing north kept it cool, even in the heat of summer.

He lay on his back, feeling the tension drain from his muscles into the firm mattress. After almost two sleepless days, it didn't take much. But he couldn't make his mind shut down as easily. The events of the last two days swirled in his head like leaves in a whirlwind.

What could have possibly gone wrong? Where did the signals get crossed? Who was Augie's contact, and why had he sent orders to pick up the cypher when they'd already been dispatched to do it? Even if Augie had told him his contact's code name, it wouldn't have meant anything to him. Agents didn't know each other's code names, for security reasons. The less you knew, the less you could give up if captured. But you didn't work in Intelligence as long as he had and not pick things up. He thought he knew who Augie's contact was, and he didn't like the implications. Although he wasn't sure he'd get an answer, he'd bring it up with Major Richards.

He'd heard the water running upstairs, knowing that Chief was also scrubbing off the residue of the last two days, but he worried that there were things Chief couldn't wash away. He'd not said much after their brief conversation on the sub, slipping into his own thoughts and answering only when spoken to. Garrison had thought all four of them were immune to the violence they'd be facing and inflicting, that they'd all developed their own coping mechanisms in order to survive. It had been one of the criteria he'd been looking for when choosing his team. But this was a trauma he hadn't anticipated...

...a mortar shell exploded next to him, spraying sand in his eyes, flaring the darkness into bright, painful shards...and another one... _bang bang bang_...someone knocking on the door. His office door. He bolted upright, breathing hard, dizzy, clammy with sweat. He was in his bedroom. The loud knocking came again. He fumbled for his watch on the chest next to his cot. 4:20. It was still light out. Afternoon.

Quickly he pulled on some pants and grabbed a shirt from the wardrobe. The knocking was more insistent. As he headed out into his office, he buttoned the shirt, trying to shake the dark webs of nightmare out of his head. The knock came again. "Come in."

Sergeant Major Rawlins pushed the door open and gave him a cursory salute. "I'm sorry to wake you, sir. But we have a situation."

Garrison finished tucking in his shirt tail, wondering what his team had done now. "What kind of situation?"

"It's Chief, sir. He's gone."

"Gone? What do you mean 'gone'?" His head was still foggy. Gone fishing? Gone to lunch?

"He told Actor he needed a walk, but that was eight hours ago. I've had all the lads looking, sir. He's nowhere on the property."

"Did you check the pub? The village?"

"Of course, sir. No one's seen him."

Chief was a loner. If he wanted to get lost, no one would be able to find him. "Alright. Tell the others to meet me..."

They were already gathering at the door, Goniff and Casino talking over top of each other. Casino pushed past Rawlins. "He didn't run, ya know. Somethin's happened to him."

"Casino's right, Warden. Chiefy'd never take a powder..."

"He's done it before," Garrison reminded them.

"That was different," Goniff and Casino declared in unison.

Garrison leaned back against his desk with a sigh. Maybe not so different. "When did you last see him?"

Actor stepped forward. "Not long after you got back this morning. He'd changed into fatigues and said he needed to take a walk, to clear his head."

"Where does he usually walk?"

"He'll walk around the perimeter sometimes," Casino said.

"Or into the village," Goniff offered.

"Sometimes he goes in the other direction," Actor added. "Toward the countryside."

It was clear that none of them really knew where Chief might have gone. "I'll alert the local constabulary. And the bartender at The Doves."

"What happened in France, Lieutenant?" Actor wanted to know.

Garrison pushed away from his desk and walked around it to his chair. "It's a long story. But we ran into Jeanette."

"Jeanette? That cute little nun?" Goniff asked.

"Alright then, that explains a lot," Casino noted. "Still couldn't talk her into coming back with ya, huh?"

"No." The memory of Jeanette's swollen, battered face tightened a knot in his chest. "Look, Chief can take care of himself. If he needs some space, we can give it to him. He'll turn up when he's ready." He hoped he wasn't lying to them. Or himself.

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First there was just the darkness. Then the pulsing, slow and steady. And then the pain, growing with each pulse, until it dragged him into full consciousness, each throb feeling like it was going to bust his head open. Rough gravel cutting into his cheek, and under his hand. The reek of alcohol, rotting garbage, something dead. Chief's stomach heaved. He fought it down with shallow breaths. Pushing against the rough ground, he turned onto his back. The pain flared white hot, and darkness bled in around the edges. More shallow breaths, until the black receded and he dared to open his eyes. Above him was a slice of the night sky bordered by high stone walls. The last thing he remembered was lying in his bunk, staring at the ceiling. This wasn't right, wherever 'this' was.

Slowly, carefully, he sat up, his head and stomach protesting the movement. Then he tried to push to his feet. The ground tilted, and his legs refused to support him. He stumbled against the wall, knocking over a trash can, the reverberating clang reigniting the pounding in his head.

"Hey, soldier! What're you doing back there?"

The blade snapped instantly to his hand and he swung, almost releasing it. An MP. Two of them. Cops.

Their guns appeared from nowhere. "Hold it, soldier. Drop the knife."

From somewhere in the middle of the pulsing pain, the reality hit him. He'd almost killed a cop. He let the blade fall, and it clattered to the ground. He knew the drill. He dropped to his knees and put his hands behind his head.

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Cranbourne. He'd never heard of the place. And he had no idea how he'd ended up there, in an alley behind a pub. He told the MP's that, but they threw him into a cell anyway. A cramped holding cell, with only a wooden bench. He'd stretched out on it, the plum-sized lump on the back of his head painful against the hard surface. He willed himself into a calmness, but struggled to hold onto it. He felt like he was in the middle of a nightmare he couldn't wake up from, like he was sinking beneath the surface of muddy water, unable to breathe.

Morning slowly emerged through the tiny window near the ceiling, and the rectangle of light had crawled halfway across the cell floor by the time Garrison showed up to bail him out.

He slouched back into the car's passenger seat and told the Warden one more time, "The last thing I remember is layin' on my bunk."

"Actor said you told him you were going for a walk."

Chief closed his eyes, the residue of the headache bouncing off the inside of his skull, fogging up his thinking. "I guess so...I couldn't sleep. I don't know."

"Why did you pull your knife on the MP's?"

"It just happened, alright?"

"Take it easy. I'm just asking you the questions Major Richards will ask."

"Richards? What's he got to do with this?"

"He came out to the mansion this morning for our debriefing."

"That's just great. I know what he's probably thinkin'."

"Just tell him the truth. We'll figure this out."

"You believe me, don't you?"

"Right now I'm not sure what to believe."

Chief closed his eyes again. That was not the answer he wanted to hear.

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Major Richards had placed himself in the position of authority, in the chair behind Garrison's desk. Chief knew the Major probably expected him to stand at attention before him, feet apart, hands behind his back, in the pose the Army strangely called 'at ease'. Instead he'd moved to the window and leaned against the sill, needing badly to have his knife in his hand, but knowing that wasn't going to happen. Garrison chose to remain standing too, leaning against a file cabinet, his arms folded across his chest.

For the hundredth time, he told them everything he knew. He'd been in his bunk, trying to sleep, and then he woke up in an alley 50 miles away, with a brutal headache and a bloody lump on the back of his head.

Richards sat quietly for a long minute, leaning on the desk, his hands tented in front of him. Then he swiveled the chair to face Chief. "I know about your prior relationship with Jeanette duPres."

Chief glared at Garrison. Why was that any of Richards' business? But Garrison wouldn't look him in the eye.

"I understand how you feel," the Major continued, not sounding at all like he'd ever understand anything. "Rejection can be a hard thing to accept. But I'm sure the Lieutenant has explained to you what desertion means in your case."

"I didn't run."

"How do you explain the train ticket to Liverpool you had in your pocket?"

"I don't know. It's not mine. Why the hell would I go to Liverpool?"

"Ships leave there every day, headed to the states."

Chief felt the walls closing in. He had to fight back, but he was running out of ammunition. "How do you explain the goose egg on the back of my head? You think I did that to myself?"

"From the smell of you, it's obvious you've been drinking. In your drunken state, you took a bad fall."

He pushed away from the window sill, wanting to throw something. He hadn't been drunk. He wasn't hung over. He knew what that felt like, and this wasn't it. But the Major had already settled on his version of the facts, and Chief realized that no matter what he said, he couldn't change that. The walls moved closer, the air sucked from the room. He needed to be out of here.

Garrison moved away from the file cabinet. "Go get cleaned up. I'll be up later."

Chief tried to read his commander's face, but it was like stone, and that hit him in the gut. At least the others would believe him. He left the office and slammed the door behind him.

gg gg gg gg gg gg

He didn't want to have to explain it all again, but they already knew all the details. Sometimes he wondered if Casino had the Warden's office bugged. The cool shower had felt good, draining some of his heat and helping to clear his head.

"Surely the Lieutenant believes you," Actor said.

"You'd have to ask him," Chief spat, Garrison's lack of support still stinging. He carefully dried his hair around the scabbed-over cut on the back of his head, then tossed the towel onto his bunk and pulled on a clean shirt. Easing into the overstuffed chair, he rubbed at his temples, trying to massage away the persistent ache.

"It is a rather bizarre story," Actor noted. "But someone is going to a great deal of trouble to make it appear that you were deserting."

"Blimey, why would anyone wanna do that?" Goniff jumped up from his bunk and joined the other two at the table, helping himself to one of Casino's cigarettes.

"C'mon, it's a classic frame-up." Casino dropped his chair back onto four legs and snatched the pack away from Goniff. "The mob does it all the time to get rid of the competition. Does a lot more damage than just puttin' a hit out on a guy. A good frame job can discredit a whole organization."

Actor smiled. "Very true. I've used the technique myself a few times."

But Goniff still wasn't buying it. "Competition? Who's Chiefy competin' against besides the ruddy Gerries?"

"That is a good question." Actor thoughtfully tapped his pipe against the table. "Who would benefit from Chief, or our whole team, being out of the picture?"

"That is a very good question." Garrison closed the large door behind him and walked over to the table. Taking the remaining chair, he swung it around and straddled it, leaning his arms across the back. He looked as tired as he had when they'd gotten off the sub yesterday morning.

"So what's the verdict?" Casino wanted to know.

Garrison took a deep breath. "Major Richards has ordered all of you into detention at Headquarters, pending further investigation."

"Detention?" Casino sat up straight. "You mean a cell? We're gonna get locked up because of somethin' he did?"

"I didn't do nothin'."

"Knock it off." Garrison was on the edge of losing his patience.

But Chief had to know for sure. "You believe me, right, Warden?"

"Of course I do. If you'd wanted to take off, you'd be on a steamer to the states by now." Garrison lit a cigarette and took a drag. "Look, I know you didn't run. But you have to admit your story is a little implausible in light of the evidence."

Casino was still angry. "Yeah, and what does he mean by 'further investigation'? You know Richards. He ain't gonna investigate any further than the end of his nose. He's got all the evidence he needs."

"I ain't goin' back."

"Ya don't have to worry about goin' back, babe. They're gonna shoot you."

"No one's getting shot, Casino. We'll work this out."

Chief had noticed Actor watching him from his seat at the table. Now Actor rose and approached his chair, reaching down to push the hair off the right side of his neck. Chief swatted his hand away.

"Hold still." Actor gently pushed his head to the side. "You've been scratching at this spot the whole time you've been back."

"Yeah, a mosquito bite or somethin'."

"That's not a mosquito bite. That's a needle puncture."

Actor and Garrison exchanged troubled looks, and Garrison walked over, also reaching down to inspect his neck. Chief pulled away from both of them, feeling like a kid being inspected for lice.

"You was doped, mate," Goniff said. "You don't remember gettin' stabbed in the neck with a needle?"

"How many times I gotta tell ya. I don't remember nothin'." But that explained why it felt like his thoughts were wading through mud. It wasn't the result of a drunken binge or a blow to the head.

"So what do we do now, Warden?" Casino asked. "A little pin prick ain't gonna change Richards' mind. Any idea who's settin' Chief up?"

Garrison chewed on his lower lip. "My gut's telling me this is connected to the screw-up in Paris. I just don't know how. The detention at headquarters could work to our advantage."

"Advantage? How can bein' locked in a cell be an advantage?"

"Richards was ready to scrub this whole program and send you all back to prison. I convinced him you still had valuable skills to contribute. He agreed to let you continue with the Resistance training as long as you were confined at headquarters. You'll only have to spend the night in a cell."

Casino rolled his eyes. "Oh, great. Because that's so much better."

"Meanwhile I'll be asking some questions."

"Do you even know where to start?" Actor asked.

Chief knew where he'd start. "I bet that Captain Beal has his mitts all over this."

"Who's Captain Beal?" Goniff wanted to know.

"He leads one of the other intelligence teams," Garrison explained. "We've butted heads a few times. But he's a good soldier, a good intelligence agent. I can't figure what his motive would be."

Chief knew. He'd felt it oozing from the man's pores. He met Garrison's eyes. "Power, greed, hate. Same as everybody else."

Garrison just shook his head. "Get your gear together. We'll leave for London in an hour."


	2. Chapter 2

The second day of Resistance training wasn't any better than the first. Chief had been assigned to work with Lieutenant Judd Kramer, a member of Captain Beal's commando team, on knife and hand-to-hand skills. Kramer was a career soldier, tall and powerful, with the kind of muscles you got from lifting a lot of weights. His demeanor was all military, but the gang tattoo he tried to hide on his left shoulder told the real story.

Kramer made it clear from the start that he was the one in charge, and Chief had no problem with that. The guy was an officer. He needed to feel important. But Chief had learned the hard way that you don't mess with gang thugs, so he just stayed out of the guy's way as much as possible. It wasn't always possible.

The young Frenchman Chief was coaching in the use of an Army combat knife was smart and eager to learn. He didn't speak much English, but they managed to communicate well enough. Chief learned the French words for 'knife' and 'target', and he taught the kid the English versions. Most of what he needed to know, though, had to be demonstrated rather than explained anyway. They'd worked all afternoon at an outdoor target range. In the adjacent field, Kramer was instructing a second young man in hand-to-hand fighting.

"Hey, Indian!"

Chief took a deep breath before turning to see what Kramer wanted.

"Come here. Bring the kid with you."

Chief slipped the knife into the sheath on his belt and headed across the field, taking his time. He'd prefer to have his own blade, but security had confiscated that, as if it were more lethal than the one he'd been teaching with all morning.

As he approached, the Lieutenant pointed down to a spot on the ground in front of him. "Stand here," he ordered.

Chief knew what Kramer had in mind, but he did as he was told, squarely facing the Lieutenant, staring him in the eyes.

"Okay, boys, watch carefully. This is how you take down a punk." He grinned at Chief, inviting him to attack.

Demonstration or not, Chief wasn't about to take a beating from this idiot. He didn't have his gang to protect him now. Never losing the guy's challenging stare, Chief shifted his weight to his left foot, as if he were about to swing with his right. When Kramer reacted, he lashed out with his left, connecting with solid flesh, the electric jolt shooting all the way to his shoulder. While Kramer was off balance, Chief grabbed his wrist, wrenched it backward, and twisted his arm up behind him. The knife slid from its sheath like it was greased, and drew a thin line of blood under Kramer's jaw.

Chief held Kramer motionless until he knew the guy could feel the blood trickling down his neck. Then he released his grip and shoved him away. "Y'all catch that, or do you wanna see it again?"

The two boys were smart enough to keep quiet. Kramer rubbed at his neck, smearing the blood, his glare promising payback.

"I think we're done here." Chief sheathed the knife, and turned and walked away.

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"Better not be stew again," Casino complained as they walked into the crowded mess hall. Two nights of being confined to a cell had done a job on Casino's mood. Chief had learned to ignore it, for the most part. But two nights of being confined in the same cell with Casino was doing a job on his nerves, too. They shared the barracks back at the mansion, but at least he could walk out of that room when he needed to.

They picked up trays and got in one of the food lines that stretched along both sides of the long serving stations. Privates in aprons stood in the middle, doling out the night's selection of mystery meat, boiled potatoes, and green slime. None of it looked particularly appetizing, but Chief had missed lunch. He was hungry enough to eat just about anything. He looked around for Actor and Goniff, who had been working with their trainees on another part of the base. Evidently they hadn't gotten back yet.

Ahead of them, in the opposite line, Kramer and Sergeant Jim Todd were joking together as they collected their meal. Todd was the soldier Casino had been working with.

"How's your screw?" Chief asked him. That's all he figured Beal's guys were there for - to keep them in line.

"Who, Sergeant Straight-Lace?" Casino took the spoon from the private ladling out potatoes and helped himself to two more. "He ain't too bad. Not real thrilled with this detail, though."

"I'll bet."

"How 'bout your guy?"

"Dangerous. Has a gang history."

"Oh yeah? What gang?" Casino sounded more intrigued than concerned.

"Didn't recognize the ink."

"Yeah, well just keep your cool. The Warden's havin' a hard enough time keepin' your neck out of a noose."

"Yeah, the Warden." They hadn't seen Garrison since he'd deposited them in their cells two nights ago. They were escorted to their assignments each morning and back each night by the same armed guards who now stood at all the mess hall exits.

Chief could hear Kramer and Todd laughing. Not the kind of laugh you hear at the punch line of a dirty joke. The kind of laugh that had an ugly edge to it. It never hurt to know as much as you could about your enemy, so he listened more carefully.

"... just added a little surprise to tomorrow's mix," Kramer was saying.

"I don't think that's such a great idea." Todd chuckled, but not enthusiastically.

"Sure it is. We'll just have Fourth of July a little early. The Captain will love it." Kramer flashed the grin Chief had seen out on the training field. And then they moved out of earshot.

Chief followed Casino to an empty table on the far side of the crowded room, and slid onto the bench, with his back to the wall. Casino climbed over the bench and sat next to him. He saw Actor and Goniff come in through the main door and head for the food line. Goniff was limping.

As they ate, he half-listened to Casino bitch about the cell, Sergeant Todd, the food, the weather. But Chief's attention was on Kramer and his cohorts sitting three tables away, talking and joking. Kramer was sporting a bandage where the knife had sliced him, and once his eyes flicked up to meet Chief's.

They were almost done with their meal by the time Actor and Goniff got through the line and joined them, taking seats on the other side of the table. Goniff struggled to get his left leg over the bench.

"What happened to you?" Casino asked around a mouthful of cake.

"I fell," Goniff's shoulders slumped as he rubbed at his left knee.

Actor took a swallow of his coffee. "He and his student were doing timed rope climbs. The rope broke."

"It broke? Just like that?" Casino snapped his fingers.

"Just like that. I dunno what happened. I checked all me gear when we was done last night, just like the Sergeant Major's always tellin' us. I didn't see no frayin' or breaks. Guess I just didn't look good enough."

"Ya gonna be okay?" Casino shoved the leftover portion of his cake across the table to Goniff.

"It appears to be just a sprain," Actor told them. "I'll get the guard to bring some ice to put on it tonight."

Chief pulled his eyes away from Kramer's table. "Did ya keep the rope?"

"Nah, it broke in the middle," Goniff sighed. "Neither piece was long enough to do anythin' with. I chucked 'em in the dust bin."

Casino narrowed his eyes at him. "You thinkin' what I think you're thinkin'?"

"Might be enlightenin' to get a look at that break."

In the seconds that Chief had taken his eyes off Kramer, the guy and his buddies had left their table and were standing across from him, behind Actor and Goniff.

"So they let the little chain gang out of their cages to eat, huh?" the Lieutenant taunted, watching Chief for a reaction. Then he turned to one of his friends. "You know, if they don't keep them locked up, I hear they tend to take off like scared bunnies."

Chief's fingers flexed against the rough table top, craving the lethal weight of his blade. He caught Actor's warning glare from across the table, and felt Casino tense next to him. But he couldn't let it stand. "I hear all that gang-bangin' couldn't keep you from gettin' whipped by a common street punk."

Casino stifled a laugh.

"We can take this outside right now, injun," Kramer spit. "Let's see what you got without a weapon for courage."

Chief slowly rose from the table and stepped back over the bench, his heart pounding with the flood of adrenalin. But this wasn't the time or place. He sucked in a deep breath, turned and started to walk away.

"Yeah, that Lieutenant of yours might not let you come out to play anymore if you can't behave yourself. What would you do if he didn't let you get over to France once in a while to visit your girl friend?" Kramer turned with a smirk to his companions. "There's this sweet little Maquis doxy, used to be a nun. If pretty boy here gets his visiting privileges revoked, then Garrison can have her sugar all to himself..."

His rage exploded. Chief launched himself across the table, scattering trays and food, as Goniff ducked out of the way. He landed on top of Kramer, hitting the floor hard, sending tables skidding, and when his fists started slamming into flesh, they wouldn't stop.

He struggled to pull from Actor's grip on his arm, and Casino's strangle hold around his neck, and he landed two more good punches before they had him pinned to the floor, gasping for breath. Three armed guards had their rifles trained on him. Two more were helping the staggering Kramer to his feet.

Kramer spat blood as his buddies pulled him away. "This ain't over, punk."

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Garrison had been sitting alone in Major Richards' office for 15 minutes. He understood the psychology behind the waiting tactic. He'd used it himself. And it was driving him nuts. He didn't have time for this.

A corporal had summoned him from the Radio Room where he'd been assigned since their arrival at Intelligence Headquarters two days ago. He had a rare and valuable ground-level perspective on things like troop movements, supply routes, and rebel networks, and he was glad he could put it to use, analyzing the massive amounts of German intelligence being collected. But he'd worked through the night, and hadn't had a chance to see his team again since he'd accompanied them to their cells that first night. They had already been out on the training fields by the time he was free from the stacks of decoded messages.

The waiting set his nerves on edge. He stood and wandered over to the tall bookshelves against the left wall, and pulled out a volume at random. The Art of War, but Sun Tzu. Of course. Richards had probably read the ancient Chinese treatise when it was first published, Garrison thought, shaking his head at his own cynicism. That would get him nowhere. From what he'd heard, Richards had been a top-notch commando in his day, but he hadn't seen any real action until the U.S. had joined the war, when he was past his prime. That spoke volumes about that first time they'd worked with Richards, when the rescue mission into Italy had gone so badly. Richards had been commanding from behind a desk since then. Garrison flipped idly through the book for a moment, then shoved it back into its slot on the shelf.

He could only speculate on why Richards wanted to see him. With any luck, the Major had considered the new information about Chief being drugged, and had decided to release them. He now wondered about what Casino had said, that Richards wouldn't investigate beyond the end of his nose. The Major knew his men, and Garrison thought he'd come to value their skills. Would he really give up on them so easily? In the few free moments Garrison had managed to steal for himself, he'd done a little of his own investigating, talking to other intelligence officers, and going through radio and message logs. It had only raised more questions, without revealing any answers.

He lit another cigarette, dropping the match into the ashtray on Richards' desk. Quickly he sorted through the few documents and files lying there, but nothing gave him a clue. He knew the Major wouldn't leave anything out in the open that he didn't intend to be seen.

He'd been so caught up in his own thoughts that he was startled at the door opening. He came to attention as Major Richards strode in, a bit embarrassed that he was caught still standing behind the desk.

"As you were, Garrison. Sorry to keep you waiting."

"No problem, sir." Garrison went back to his chair as Richards rounded the desk, giving him only the briefest of disapproving frowns.

Richards settled himself into his chair, and Garrison sat also.

"What have you decided about my team, sir? It's obvious that Chief..."

"About Chief." Richards cleared his throat. "I've confined him to his cell until further notice."

That caught Garrison off guard. "Why? What happened?"

"He attacked one of Captain Beal's men in the mess hall tonight. Had to be pulled off of him at gunpoint."

Garrison rubbed at the headache forming behind his eyes, trying hard not to let his disappointment and frustration show. At least they hadn't actually shot him. "He had to have been provoked. I know he has a temper, but he doesn't just start a fight without a reason."

"Nonetheless, it was a fight. Lieutenant Kramer has also been reprimanded."

Judd Kramer, the hard-nosed weapons expert on Beal's team. Chief wouldn't have put up with him for long. "Look, Major, keeping my men in the brig has got to be doing a job on their nerves. And Chief has barely recovered from the Paris mission, then being assaulted and drugged."

"You really believe his story, don't you, Lieutenant."

"I do, sir. I know Chief. He had no reason to run."

Richards sat silently for a moment, contemplating his clasped hands. Then he met Garrison's eyes. "What about the girl in Paris?"

"Jeanette? What about her?"

"Come on, Garrison. He's a young man. One who's been locked up with other men for months - years. We both know what that can be like. He may even have real feelings for the girl. She took care of him at the convent in France, when he was injured. That isn't enough incentive?"

As much as he hated to admit it, Richards had a valid point. Although he didn't know the real reason for Chief's disappearance in New York, he could easily guess. But not this time. He knew to his very core that Chief didn't desert, but his gut feelings were hard to explain. And then there was the head wound and the needle mark. And the screwed up messages in Paris.

Garrison redirected the conversation. "I've been trying to find out how the messages about the book pick-up got confused. That was a dangerous mistake that could have cost thousands of lives."

"And what have you discovered?" Richards was humoring him. The Major probably thought that was just a mix-up on the part of ignorant, scared partisans.

"Augie said he received the message on Monday night telling him to pick up the book, and not to give it to anyone but his regular handler. I can't find any record in the radio logs of that message being sent. Who is Augie's handler, sir?"

"You know I can't tell you that."

"Is it Captain Beal?"

Richards straightened in his chair and leaned forward on his desk. "It was a near-fatal mistake, I'll admit, but it was just a mistake. Don't try to make a conspiracy out of it. Why on earth would Captain Beal deliberately sabotage a critical mission?"

Had Richards just admitted that Beal was Augie's contact? "You tell me, sir. Maybe it was just a mistake. Maybe this mission accidentally got assigned to two teams. You have access to the mission records. Why don't you check? Maybe there will be some explanation for all of these foul-ups. It seems to me we'd want to find out how this happened and make sure it doesn't happen again."

"I already have my staff checking," Richards sighed, his chair squeaking as he leaned back. "However, none of this changes the fact that your man is dangerously out of control and a flight risk. He will stay confined until General Fremont has a chance to review the matter."

"Sir, that could take weeks..."

"That's all, Lieutenant. You're dismissed."

Garrison stood, gave a stiff salute, and did not close the door gently as he left.

gg gg gg gg gg gg

The guards had been told not to unlock the cells, so Garrison pulled up a metal folding chair on the other side of the bars, between the two adjoining cells, so he could see all of them. He straddled it and rested his elbows on the back, lighting a cigarette.

Casino strolled up to the corner, where the two cells joined. "Got a spare?"

Garrison handed him the pack. "I've heard what Richards and the MP's had to say. Now I want your version."

From his cot in the next cell, Goniff dropped the ice pack he'd been holding on his knee, jumped up, and reached through the bars to take the pack of cigarettes from Casino. "That Kramer bloke started makin' disparagin' remarks about Jeanette and you, so Chiefy let 'im 'ave it."

Garrison raised an eyebrow. "That simple, huh?"

Chief had not moved from where he'd collapsed onto his cot after the guards had taken off the cuffs. When the adrenalin had drained away, he had nothing left to fight with. He rubbed at his bruised knuckles. "Don't matter what he said. He baited me, and I fell for it."

Actor, sharing the cell with Goniff, approached the bars and rested his arms on the chest-high horizontals. "It didn't start there, Lieutenant. Tell him about your rope, Goniff."

"Is that what happened to your knee?" the Warden wanted to know.

"Yeah, me rope broke..."

"It was cut," Chief clarified.

"You don't know that. It mighta just wore out."

"Fat chance."

"Is that all?" Garrison asked.

From where he was standing against the bars, Casino turned to Chief. "While we're all confessin' here, go ahead. Tell him about that little ruckus this afternoon."

He hesitated. He shouldn't have risen to that bait, either.

"Chief?" Garrison prompted.

"He wanted a fight, and he got what he deserved."

"So he already had it in for you in the mess hall tonight."

"He's had it in for me since we got here."

Actor asked the question that had been buzzing in Chief's head since dinner. "How did Lieutenant Kramer know about Jeanette?"

Garrison took a drag on his cigarette. "We all work with a lot of different Maquis cells. He probably encountered her on a mission."

"Yes, I'm sure. But how did he know about Chief and Jeanette?"

Garrison sighed and shook his head. "I don't know."

"It's him, ain't it?" Chief pushed up on one elbow. "Him and Beal. They sent Augie the fake message."

"Like I said, I don't know. I have no proof. I'm working on it."

"Good luck with that." Chief fell back onto the cot, anger and frustration eating away at what little energy he had left. Garrison just wasn't getting it. What more evidence did he need? Officers were all alike. They couldn't get past each other's shiny brass.

Garrison rose and returned his chair to its spot against the wall. "Actor, Casino, Goniff, you have your regular sessions tomorrow. The guards will pick you up at 07:00. Chief, you're stuck here until they decide what to do with you."

He'd known that the minute the MP's had cuffed him. They weren't going to let him out of this cell again. If they had a version of solitary, he'd probably be in it.

"Warden, that ain't fair," Casino protested. "Kramer started it. I woulda ripped that crumb's head off myself if Geronimo here hadn't beat me to it."

"It's out of my hands. I'm sorry, Chief. But I'll see what I can do."

Chief closed his eyes, feeling the walls closing in on him again, that familiar hollow sensation of being trapped, with no hope of ever seeing the outside again. Just when he thought he'd gained some control, and all he had to do was stay alive long enough. But it was the story of his life. No reason for it to change now.

gg gg gg gg gg gg

When the MP's came to collect the others the next morning, they brought Chief a tray of food. The young corporal apologized that it had probably gotten cold, but joked that it might improve the taste. It was the same MP detail every morning and night, and Actor knew them all by name. Chief was fascinated with how easily Actor had gotten them to open up, how he'd won them over to the team's plight of being unjustly confined. The man had a gift.

Settling onto his bunk, Chief removed the plate covering the top of his breakfast, and picked up the spoon. As usual, there was no knife or fork. He shook his head. The kids running this place had no idea how deadly a metal spoon could become. Maybe it would be a nice project while he was locked up here.

Casino finished buttoning his shirt and came over to give him a slap on the back, a happy grin on his face. "Sorry you're missin' the party, babe. Today we start the fun stuff. Demolition. Gonna see how many tanks, half-tracks, and storage sheds we can blow up. And with nobody shootin' at us."

"Sounds like a real blast." Chief didn't understand why Casino got such a kick out of explosions. They hurt his ears.

"Ha! I get it. Demolition. Blast. Very cute." Casino held out his right hand, as if he wanted to shake. Chief frowned at him, but accepted the gesture, then understood why. Casino slipped a length of twisted cot spring into his hand, then winked at him. "If you're lucky, maybe they'll let you out into the yard. You could probably use a little fresh air."

"Later, mate," Goniff called cheerily over his shoulder.

Actor gave him a quick salute. "Enjoy your day off." Then they all left the cell block, surrounded by armed guards.

When the main door had clanged shut, Chief turned back to the cold eggs and oatmeal. Day off. Right. He'd lost his appetite. He set the tray on the floor and lay back on his cot, inspecting the improvised lock pick Casino had slipped him. As simple as the bent piece of metal was, it must've taken some effort. He hadn't seen Casino working on it. He'd have to pay closer attention. Casino was still holding some secrets close to the vest.

Whenever possible, he'd watched Casino work on locks, and Casino had been generous in sharing his skills with all of them. Although Chief had never tried one himself, he felt like he'd picked up the technique.

He let his mind wander, as he flipped the twisted scrap of wire between his fingers. What if he could get the cell door open? There was still the armed MP outside the doorway into the main hall. This morning it was the kid Actor had called Bobby. He knew he could take him out, but he really wasn't looking to hurt an innocent kid just doing his job. Maybe just leave him dazed for a few minutes, long enough for him to open a window and drop the two stories to the ground. But what then? Run? Prove them all right?

And where would he go? If he thought there was the slimmest chance he could locate Jeanette, he'd find a way to get to France and talk some sense into her. The image of her bruised, swollen face crowded into his mind. He didn't want to remember her that way. He tried to pull up the image he had of her at the convent, sitting in the grass and shelling peas, or helping him clean the fish he'd caught. The girlish innocence of her quick smile, the soft, pale hair escaping from her wimple. Those images hurt, too.

Chief took a deep breath and let it out slowly, pushing the lock pick into his pants pocket, and the memories back into the shadows. He hated this cell, and the helpless, hopeless hole it left in his gut. But he'd long ago decided to trust Garrison, and although that trust felt like it was fraying at the edges, he wasn't ready to give up on it. He'd try to take Actor's advice and embrace the solitude, away from the heat of the training field and Kramer's relentless baiting.

It riled him that he'd fallen for it, let his temper get the best of him, but he also knew he probably couldn't trust himself to hold back now, especially when Kramer was out for blood. He imagined himself putting a shiv through the goon's thick neck, or a fist through his malicious grin. That grin he'd seen on the field yesterday afternoon, and in the chow line last night. And the sinister laugh that went with it, about an "early Fourth of July" and "a little surprise in tomorrow's mix".

 _Shit!_

Fourth of July. Surprise tomorrow. Demolition.

Chief bolted from his cot and grabbed the first thing at hand, the metal tray, sending eggs and oatmeal splattering across the floor. He banged it frantically against the cell bars. "Guard! Hey, screw!"

The hall door swung open, and the young MP just stood there, holding his rifle protectively across his chest. "What's wrong?"

"I gotta see Garrison. Now."

"I don't think...I'm not sure he's..."

"Then Richards. I gotta talk to Richards."

The kid took a step back and stammered, "I'll see if I can find him..."

"Just hurry!"

He left quickly, obviously anxious to get away.

He paced the length of the cell, feeling more caged than ever. Richards would probably take all day to decide if he had time to waste coming to the brig. Chief slipped the bent spring from his pocket and started to work on the lock. It took a couple of tries, but once he felt the solid resistance, then the click, it popped open amazingly easily.

In his haste, the guard had left the hallway door unlocked. Chief eased it open a crack and could see the single MP just down the hall at the desk, on the phone, back turned. Silently, Chief slipped through the door and came up behind the kid, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. When he turned, startled, Chief hit him with a hard right, and he fell back across the desk, the phone receiver clattering to the floor. Chief pulled the kid's sidearm from its holster and shoved it under his belt. Then he slipped the knife from its sheath. Instinctively he tested the blade. It was dull as a rock, but it would have to do. He gave the rifle a thought, then decided it was too cumbersome.

Across from the desk, he used the knife to pry the lock from the window, shoved it open, and maneuvered through. He gave himself only a brief second to consider, assured himself that no one was close enough to see, then pushed off, falling 20 feet to the ground, dropping and rolling just like he did on every jump behind enemy lines.

On the narrow street directly in front of him, several jeeps sat parked. He chose the closest, and the keys were in the ignition. At least the god of engines was on his side. He tried to picture the map of the base that he'd seen two days ago. He thought he remembered the large, open area in the base's far northeast corner. The engine roared to life, and he took off. He needed speed, no matter how much attention it drew. The MP wasn't going to stay unconscious for long.

The gate and the fence surrounding the demolition range were both too sturdy to ram. He skidded the jeep to a halt with a squeal of rubber, and leapt toward the tall chain-link fence. At least the top wasn't angled out. The three lines of barbed wire strung there would be tough enough to get over. He scrambled to the top, avoided most of the wicked barbs, and vaulted over them to the ground. Trying to catch his breath, he collapsed back against the fence and scanned the huge open field in front of him. Far to the north he could make out a cluster of small buildings and a few vehicles, with people moving around them. He thought he recognized Casino.

He took off at a dead run. And then the sirens started. Air raid? Or his escape had been discovered. He ran faster. As he approached the group, he shouted, but no one heard him over the blare of the sirens.

Casino looked up briefly when the sirens had started, but turned back to unloading crates from the back of a truck, stacking them in front of one of the small cinderblock structures. He had two already out and set a third on top of them, then pulled a small pry bar off his belt and started to lever the lid from the top box. Kramer and Todd were at the front of the truck, edging away in the opposite direction.

"Casino!"

Chief hit him at full speed, tackling him around the waist, sending the pry bar and the crate lid flying. They both hit the dirt just as the world exploded in a blinding flash and a deafening _whump_. A second blast sent flaming debris whizzing over their heads. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing Casino by the shirt, dragging him up. They'd only stumbled three more steps before the force of a third explosion slammed him in the back, and he landed hard on top of Casino.

How long did he lay there, the world eerily silent? His eyes and throat burned. His ears hummed to the rapid beat of his heart. Beneath him, Casino groaned and pushed upward. Chief rolled off of him and onto his back, needing to breathe, but choking on the acrid smoke. He could hear Casino coughing next to him. "What the hell..."

Chief opened his eyes, and for the third time in a matter of days, there were MP's standing over him with rifles. He turned his head to look at his teammate, who was now struggling to sit up. "You okay?" he coughed between ragged breaths.

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah." The air was clearing, breathing didn't burn as much.

"You're bleedin'."

"So are you."


	3. Chapter 3

The pretty little dark-eyed Army nurse flashed him another bright smile as she gathered up the supplies she'd used to bandage his arm. Chief smiled back, but she'd already turned and left the room.

Sitting on the other examining table across from him, Casino was trying not to fidget as the doctor finished stitching up the wound on the back of his left shoulder, where a jagged piece of a wooden crate had imbedded.

The doctor gently taped a gauze bandage over his handiwork. "The anesthetic will wear off in a few hours. I'll give you both something to take later, if you want."

"No, thanks." Chief flexed the fingers of his left hand, the muscles pushing against the tight bandage. The barbed wire had carved a bloody furrow down his forearm. He was numb down to his finger tips, and his hand felt strangely disconnected.

"Speak for yourself, hotshot." Casino stretched out his arm, testing his own stitches. "I'll take his drugs, Doc. This thing's gonna hurt like hell tonight."

Garrison appeared suddenly in the doorway, slightly breathless. "Are you two alright? What happened?"

"Just peachy." Casino eased into his shirt. "All hell broke loose, that's what happened. If it hadn't been for Jim Thorpe here, you woulda been sending pieces of me home in a pine box. Or worse." He opened and closed his fists a couple of times, as if he were glad he still could.

With a sigh of relief, Garrison stepped into the room. "What caused it?"

"Not a clue. I packed those crates myself, Warden. There was absolutely no reason they shoulda blown like that."

Garrison's brows came together as he turned to Chief. "How did you know?"

Chief thought the question was going to be "how did you get out", but he'd probably hear about that later. He pulled his torn, bloody sleeve down over the bandage. "Somethin' Kramer said in the chow line last night. Didn't put it together 'til Casino said he was gonna be blowin' stuff up today."

Garrison slammed a fist against the top of a metal storage cabinet, making the doctor jump. "Damn it, that's it. I'm done pussyfooting around. Somebody's going to start answering questions."

The doctor gathered up his supplies and edged toward the door. "I'll leave you gentleman to your discussion. Stop by the nurse's station on your way out to pick up those pills."

"Sorry, Doc." Garrison shook the man's hand. "Thanks."

"No problem." The doctor hurried out and closed the door behind him.

Chief scooted off the examining table. "So where do we start?"

"There's no 'we' here. You two are going back to the brig."

Casino stood, too. "Uh uh, no way, Warden. We're the ones takin' the hits here. I got a few questions of my own."

Garrison looked back and forth between them, his mouth set in a hard line. "Alright. Just let me do the talking. I don't need either of you hot-heads going off half-cocked. I'm already up to my neck in assault-and-battery paperwork."

gg gg gg gg gg gg

Instead of taking the elevator, Garrison bounded down the three flights of steps, taking them two at a time, and Chief and Casino hurried to keep up, their footsteps echoing in the empty stairwell. Garrison slammed through the hospital's front door and headed out across the broad courtyard, toward the Administration Building.

Chief knew that glint of cold steel in the Warden's eyes. Privately he called it the Demon, something hard, fierce and dangerous just beneath the surface of the military discipline. He'd seen Garrison unleash it against Nazis, traitors and collaborators, to get what he needed to complete a mission. But this was different. These were his fellow soldiers, his superiors, the very men Chief was beginning to think Garrison would never confront. He didn't ever want to be on the wrong side of that Demon.

Inside the Administration Building, Garrison again took the stairs two and a time and pushed through the second floor stairwell door into a large office area. A half dozen grey metal desks sat in front of a half dozen closed doors. Two were occupied by uniformed Corporals. On the middle door, a plain wooden plaque read "Capt. M. Beal".

The Corporal jumped to attention at the sight of Garrison's bars, but when Garrison went directly for the door, the Corporal moved to block his way. "Is the Captain expecting you, sir?"

Casino slapped a hand against the Corporal's chest with a warning glare, grabbing a fistful of shirt, and Garrison shoved through the door, banging it back against the wall.

Startled, Captain Beal looked up from his work.

Garrison planted both hands on Beal's desk and leaned in. "I want some answers, Captain."

Chief stood to the left of the door. Casino closed it behind them and took up a position across from him. Chief's hand itched for his blade. The MP's had confiscated the knife and pistol he'd stolen.

Beal regained his composure, leaning back in his chair. "Well, if it isn't Robin Hood and two of his merry men."

Garrison ignored the taunt. "You're Augie Schulman's handler, aren't you?"

"That's classified, Garrison."

"Then declassify it! You almost blew that whole mission, to say nothing of endangering the lives of two good agents. And for what? To sabotage my team?"

"You're out of line, Lieutenant."

"Go ahead, deny it. Tell me Kramer didn't rig those explosives this morning. Tell me you didn't have Chief kidnapped and drugged."

Beal rose from his chair, his steel blue eyes narrowing. "I know we've had our differences, Garrison, but those are serious accusations. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Come on, Captain. Chief overheard Kramer and Todd plotting this morning's little accident in the mess hall last night."

Beal looked up at Chief with an arrogant smirk. "Can't seem to control your temper around Lieutenant Kramer, can you, boy?"

"He's lucky I didn't hand him his liver..."

"Chief!" The Warden gave him a cautionary wave, but didn't take his eyes off of Beal. "I believe him. There've been too many coincidences. It ends now."

Something undefinable flashed across Beal's face. He took a deep breath, then reached for the intercom button on his desk. "Jenkins, is Lieutenant Kramer still on the demolition range?"

A tinny voice replied, "No, sir. Major Richards summoned him to his office. He should be there now."

Beal thanked his clerk, then met Garrison's glare. "Alright, Lieutenant, let's go straighten out all those coincidences."

gg gg gg gg gg gg

Major Richards' office was another flight up, in more spacious accommodations than the junior officers a floor below. Four doors faced the richly paneled hallway, and Beal pushed through the one labeled Major K. Richards. Beyond the door was an outer office containing two desks, one manned by an armed Sergeant, who came to attention and saluted when they entered.

"Is Lieutenant Kramer in with the Major?" Beal snapped.

"Yes, sir, but..."

Beal didn't wait for the answer, but knocked loudly on the inner door. When he got a reply, he entered.

Garrison turned to Chief and Casino. "You two. Stay here."

Casino started to protest but halted at Garrison's glare. "I said stay here." And the door closed behind him.

Casino settled himself on the unoccupied desk and pulled out a cigarette. "I'd sure like to be a fly on that wall."

"Sshh!" Chief held up a palm to silence him. He leaned against the door, but it was too thick for him to pick up more than an occasional word..."unauthorized message", "radio", "endangering lives", and he thought he heard Jeanette's name.

The Sergeant walked around to the front of his desk and sat on the edge, lighting his own cigarette. "What happened to you two?"

Casino glanced down at the dark stain of dried blood on his left shirt sleeve. There was a similar one on Chief's left sleeve. "Some unscheduled fireworks."

"Shut up!" Chief hissed.

But the conversation in the inner office was getting louder. Kramer's voice was unmistakeable. "You have no right to search my quarters."

The reply was muffled.

Again, Kramer's agitated voice rose above the others. "But Captain, it was for the good of our team."

There was the crash of glass breaking, of something hitting the floor, furniture being shoved.

Chief spun on the Sergeant. "Gimme your knife."

"I don't think..."

"Gimme the damn blade!"

The Sergeant still hesitated, so Chief swiped the heavy knife from Sergeant's belt in one smooth motion, and backed up against the wall to the right of the door, holding it ready. Casino flattened himself against the wall on the other side, unarmed but prepared. "Shouldn't we go in?"

Chief shook his head. When the Sergeant pulled his sidearm, Chief gave him a warning glare. If Garrison wasn't in control on the other side of the door, they needed to be the surprise on this side.

The door slowly opened inward, and Garrison emerged first, followed by Beal. They both held their hands up, away from their weapons. A brief smile twitched at the corner of Garrison's mouth when he caught Chief's eye.

Kramer's voice was edged with fear and desperation. "I'm a patriot, and you're not sending me back to prison. I'm going to walk out the front door, and if I even think I'm being followed, the Major here is dead meat, got it?"

Kramer came through the doorway, pushing Major Richards in front of him, a tight grip on his shoulder and a gun pressed to his head. But his focus was straight ahead, on Garrison and Beal.

Just as Casino moved in from behind and snatched the gun, Chief slipped his arm around Kramer's neck, pressing the blade against the pulsing vein. "Ready for a rematch, pappy?"

gg gg gg gg gg gg

The scent of freshly cut grass drifted through the open window on a warm evening breeze, and somewhere in the distance a dove cooed. Garrison leaned back in his desk chair, reveling in the brief moment that brought back vague boyhood memories, and let the good Scotch begin to release the tension in his shoulders. He reached for the bottle, pouring more into his guest's glass first, then his own.

"Is this how you end every mission?" Captain Mark Beal took a sip from his glass and raised it in a salute.

"Only the really tough ones," he smiled.

"I have to admit, Kramer had me fooled." Beal shook his head, studying the golden liquid in his glass. "I knew he had a prison record, but he was a good, talented soldier. He earned his bars with a field commission in Italy."

"How long had he been on your team?"

"About six months. He replaced a Lieutenant I lost during a hostage rescue in Holland."

Garrison heard the emotion in the Captain's voice and let it settle in the quiet of the darkening room for a moment. There but for the grace of God...

Finally Beal looked up at him frankly. "He really thought he was helping the team and the war effort by discrediting you and your men. Sometimes it's hard to gauge the measure of a man until he's put to the test."

"Tell me about it..."

The quiet evening was interrupted by the sound of an engine roaring into the courtyard, and the squeal of tires on the cobblestones. Car doors opened, then slammed. Through the open window he heard Sergeant Major Rawlins in the middle of a full rant. "...the cars are not your bloody playthings. You can't just drive off in one any bloody time you feel like it."

"C'mon, mate, we just went to The Doves," Goniff tried to explain.

"And you'll spend all day tomorrow fixing that bloody dent and cleaning off the mud. And the cost of the lamp post will come out of your bloody paychecks."

Beal chuckled. "They stole a car?"

"'Stole' might be a strong word." Garrison sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"How often does this kind of thing happen?"

Garrison considered how much he should admit. "You get used to it."

"I don't know how you manage. Just give me the good old Army grunts."

Garrison took a swallow of the Scotch and let the warmth fill his mouth. He'd commanded those grunts. They may have training and discipline, but they lacked instinct and imagination. For those qualities, he'd put up with the occasional car theft or pub brawl. He reached for the intercom on his desk. "Collins, have the men join me in my office, please."

He could hear them all still arguing with the Sergeant Major as they came up the steps and headed down the hall. Rawlins was the first one through the door.

"I didn't know the car was gone 'til I got a call from the constable, sir. And it's really just a small dent."

"It's alright, Sergeant Major. I'll handle it."

Rawlins saluted smartly, and glowered at Goniff on his way out.

Goniff's smile was all innocence. "Chiefy was just showin' us how to hotwire it, Warden, seein's how it's a new model and all..."

"Don't lay this on me, man. It was your idea."

"And you just had to drive, didn't you?" Casino gave Goniff a hard shove. "You didn't see that lamp post comin' at ya?"

All four of them came up short when they recognized the Captain sitting in side chair.

Garrison did the introductions. "Captain Beal, this is Goniff and Actor. You already know Casino and Chief."

Beal nodded. "Gentlemen."

"Come on in, guys. Grab some glasses, Goniff." Garrison motioned toward the cabinet to his right, the one his men knew always held the Scotch.

The four of them edged cautiously into the office, and Actor closed the door behind him.

Casino's eyes narrowed. "You here to blow up the mansion now, Captain? Maybe plant some more fake evidence?"

"Enough, Casino." Holding up the bottle of Glenfiddich, Garrison motioned for Goniff to bring him the glasses. He poured two fingers of Scotch into each, and Goniff handed them around, giving his teammates a wary frown.

Beal held his glass up to them in a toast, then took a sip. None of them were enthusiastic about returning the gesture, but each tasted the strong liquor. All except Chief, who silently swirled it in the glass, never taking his eyes off of the Captain.

Beal leaned forward in his chair. "I came to apologize for what Kramer put you through. And to tell you that I admire how you all handled the situation."

"Well then, it weren't really your fault, was it, Captain," Goniff conceded.

"No, Goniff, you're wrong. Kramer was under my command, and I take full responsibility for his actions. Somehow I gave him the idea that we were in competition with you, and he wanted to make sure we 'won'. In some twisted way, he saw it as his duty."

"What will happen to him?" Actor asked.

"He'll be courtmartialed. A tribunal will decide. Rest assured, he will go to prison. I'm just thankful no one was more seriously hurt."

"Sergeant Todd, was he involved?" Casino wanted to know.

"Only so far as he knew Kramer had rigged the explosives and did nothing to stop it. He's been busted back to corporal."

Casino just shrugged and frowned at the floor. It occurred to Garrison that Casino might actually have come to like Sergeant Todd, and was upset that he'd been dragged into the mess. This was a side of Casino he'd been seeing more of recently, and he approved.

Garrison set his glass down and tried to suppress a smile, taking in the motley group standing in front of him. "Okay, you can go. We'll talk about the car later."

They all silently turned and started to leave, taking their unfinished Scotch with them, but Beal stood and spoke up. "Chief, if you'll stay for a minute..."

Goniff turned back, too. "Hey, Warden, it weren't Chiefy's fault. It really was my idea. Well, me and Casino..."

"I know, Goniff. It's okay."

With a brief half-smile of apology, Goniff punched Chief on the arm and backed out of the room, closing the door.

Still holding his untouched Scotch by the rim of the glass, Chief squarely met Beal's gaze with a resolute, defiant stare.

Beal met the stare head on. "I know what happened in Paris. I know the girl..."

"Jeanette."

"Jeanette." Beal nodded and continued. "I know she was badly hurt because of whatever misguided mission Kramer thought he was on. I can say I'm sorry, but I know that doesn't make up for it."

Beal paused, as if expecting a response, but when Chief's stare didn't waver, he looked away, glancing at Garrison for some kind of cue. Like Chief, Garrison waited to see where this was going.

Beal turned back to face Chief. "I got a message from Augie Schulman this morning. He and Jeanette have moved into the Provence countryside, working with one of the Maquis cells there. I want you to know that I'll do everything I can to protect them and their work. She's a remarkable young woman." Beal hesitated again, and cleared his throat. "Augie also said she's healing well, and she sends you her love."

The flicker across Chief's face was so brief that Garrison thought he might have imagined it. Surprise? Relief?

Beal picked up his cap and put it on. "I need to get back to London. I sincerely hope I'll get to work with you and your men again sometime, Lieutenant." With a salute, the Captain was out the door and gone.

Chief turned back to Garrison. "Can I go now?"

Suddenly the air in the room felt thick and heavy. Or maybe it was just the Scotch. Garrison motioned to the chair Beal had vacated. "Have a seat."

"I'll stand."

The clean, white bandage on Chief's left forearm was visible under his partially rolled-up sleeve. "How's the arm?"

"Good." Chief flexed his fingers, as if daring the stitches to break, and wiped his palm down his pants leg.

Garrison took a deep breath. "Look, I know being locked up was hard, and I'm sorry it had to be that way. But there was nothing I could do. It was out of my control."

"It's alright. You had your orders." The words were conciliatory, but Chief's rigid stance told a different story. He could probably still feel the cuffs chafing his wrists. It was going to be a long road back.

Chief's eyes narrowed. "One question. How'd Kramer know about me and Jeanette?"

"Richards probably told him."

"How'd Richards know?"

Garrison sat forward, leaning on his desk. "He's read all the mission reports. He knows about everything we do."

"For a bunch of spies, you guys sure have a hard time keepin' a secret."

Garrison laughed at the irony. "Hopefully we keep them from the ones who can do real damage." He looked up at Chief's dark stare, knowing he had to ask, but wondering if this was the right time. "How did you get out?"

The corners of Chief's mouth edged up into a brief, rare smile. "I think that's my secret, Warden." Then he set his glass on the corner of the desk and headed out the door.

Garrison shook his head and leaned back in his chair. He stretched out his legs and drained the last of the Scotch from his glass, feeling it finally seeping into the rest of his muscles. Maybe it wasn't going to be such a long road after all.


End file.
